Little Healing Hands

She at last sits on the swinging chair

Wiping her sweat with a shallow sigh

Many are still the chores that wait

For her to attend before she rests

Without a reward she moves on her way

Not for a penny; she works all day

No one asks her or even thinks she needs

A day to rest, or some air to breathe

Taken her for granted he comes

Evening, night, at any odd time

She stands there to serve him food

With a smile, or else he’s sure to shout

Her heart at times yearns to laugh aloud

To chat a while with someone dear

She is called wife, but treated as slave

She is a woman, she’s but a name

Her spirit dies, her soul withers

Her body and mind ails with age

In thirties she looks like a haggard old being

Her prayers are silent tears that flow

There comes her little girl looking so puzzled

‘Mama, are you tired?’ she asks so sweet

Then goes and brings a glass full of water

‘Drink mama, drink’ she compels with love

She sits beside her, looks into her eyes

‘Can I help you, mama? You take some rest.’

 Mama’s heart fills with joy, she hugs her babe

A new stream of life makes mama smile

She puts her babe on her lap and kisses her brow

Grateful to her for the healing touch of love

Cuddling her closer, with tears she prays

‘God, spare my child from my wretched fate’

Tightly holding hands, they walk to the kitchen

Sweet words so cute make mama cheerful

Little hands take onions and lift them to her mom

‘What else, mama?’ ‘Nothing dear, I’m well’ 

Child is a wonder, the best healer for a mother

Those twinkling eyes are the brightest light ever

That innocent smile reflects the heart of a giver

Child is a treasure; age matters never!